


A place to come home to

by Eicinic



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: (hints of: sexual content, Existentialism, Home: any place of residence or refuge, I wondered what if Neah was only the personification of an existential crisis, Introspection, M/M, Vulnerability, trust)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicinic/pseuds/Eicinic
Summary: “Is home a place you can come back to?” Allen wasn’t sure when the morning meditation routine shifted to quiet contemplation in the company of the other, but it had happened. Kanda no longer snarled at him murderously when he interrupted the silence, but that didn’t mean he was up for conversation most of the time. Just because he wasn’t expecting any answer, Kanda’s voice startled him:“I don’t know”.Just like that. He didn’t know. It was so obvious, it sounded so plain Allen wasn’t left with any doubt: it was so Kanda. Yet again he was the same, right? He didn’t know if he had a place to come back to.





	

 

> 帰るべき場所 - A place to come home to
> 
>  

  


“Is home a place you can come back to?” Allen wasn’t sure when the morning meditation routine shifted to quiet contemplation in the company of the other, but it had happened. Kanda no longer snarled at him murderously when he interrupted the silence, but that didn’t mean he was up for conversation most of the time. Just because he wasn’t expecting any answer, Kanda’s voice startled him:

“I don’t know”.

 _Just like that._ He _didn’t know._ It was so obvious, it sounded so plain Allen wasn’t left with any doubt: _it was so Kanda_ . Yet again he was the same, right? He didn’t know if he had a place to come back, because the headquarters in England no longer deserved such title. One doesn’t call home to a nest of snakes. He’s been thinking about it since he managed to decipher about two lines in the new book he was trying hard to read: it talked about home. He knew what family was, and family wasn’t what was waiting for you when you came back. Family were the bonds he built and destroyed over the years. Lenalee, Lavi, Crowley, Miranda, Komui, Bak, _(even Link)_ , Reever, Johnny, Kanda, Cross… Mana. They were people Allen knew, they were _safe._ Years under Cross’ tyranny and after Mana’s loss, there was nothing else in humanity Allen felt attached to. Humans were fickle, weak; he arrived at the Black Order fighting for the Akuma, believing his only purpose in life was to free souls from agony.

“Did you hate me so much because I wasn’t part of the living?” The question is out of his mouth before he can hold it back, and now that it’s hanging heavy between them Allen’s heart sinks further in his own chest. He doesn’t burden anyone with his problems because he’s perfectly capable of handling them himself. And he, _absolutely,_ doesn’t show _Kanda_ of all people how unsure and vulnerable he feels. Fighting the akuma is something he can do. Paying his master’s debt is something he can do. Saving the world is something he can do. Dealing with being human is something _he can’t._

 _Being able to see the souls of the akuma doesn’t make you different,_ Lavi snapped once, to which Allen just looked away and kept dropping his shoulders like the world weighed _too much_ that day.

They made him understand, though. Lenalee, Lavi, made him understand denying his humanity only approaches him to a demon, _to the Noah family,_ he’s been just _so comfortable_ with it until now. He doesn’t understand what’s the silence of these past weeks in this house, lost in the middle of Japan, to make him question the very beginning of his existence.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, he reassures himself, _this is_ Kanda _, Kanda_ _is safe._

He lifts his eyes from the carpet floor to find black ones boring holes into his face. Precisely because _this is Kanda,_ Allen grimaces.

“Forget it” he mutters quietly, and comes back to contemplate the landscape through the open doors. Droplets of rain are still making their way to the puddly ground, though it’s quieter than before. This is Kanda’s favorite spot for meditating: the one in which he has a heartbreaking view of the hills beyond the small scratches of the houses in the middle of the valley. The forest is barely biting the right side of the house: they are the last frontier between humanity and wild, unexplored nature. Kanda’s favorite spot includes all the doors in the ground floor open, fresh air revolving their hair constantly. It’s wet and cold in the first hours of the morning. There’s also steaming tea in the wooden floor of the engawa, and now, Allen. He supposes since Kanda hasn’t killed him the first weeks for interrupting his meditation, now he’s part of _his favorite spot._ It could be a charming thought to tease him if Kanda wasn’t still peeling him off with his intense glare.

“Doubting yourself is normal”, he says then, and faces the landscape again, closing his eyes.

That is, also, probably, maybe, the only time Allen can recall of Kanda attempting any comfort, but what utterly unsettles him is how he saw _straight_ through Allen. There isn’t, there wasn’t, he corrects, a single person in this world who could do that, except Mana.

Suddenly he hates this place.

Hates this place, hates this town, hates this mission and, above all, hates Kanda.

“Fuck off”, he growls half-heartedly, staring at some very interesting point on the floor. Kanda doesn’t fuck off, he stays where he is, rigid and immobile like he’s got a stick up his ass. Not even during meditation he relaxes, even though the albino supposes _meditation_ is for _relaxing._ They have been here three weeks already, no sight of akuma, no news from the Order, just thrown in the middle of nowhere with too much free time in the presence of the other for things to get down to hands in more than one occasion. Yet, despite the calm, Kanda is so rigid, his back so tense, it hurts watching him.

But all of this might be okay. Kanda seeing through him might be okay, because he’s _safe._ Kanda is something Allen knows, something he can deal with. Something he can _come back to,_ and suddenly _it makes sense._

He makes a disgusted face and breaks the silence to spit out:

“ _You are home”_

To which Kanda opens his eyes and glowers at him like he’s just smelled the stinkiest shit out there and doesn’t even have a reply to fire back. They stare at each other sternly and stupidly, so grossed out they don’t even know how to tell the other the way to hell even though they’ve been through it together _so many times already._

“Fucking Moyashi pissing the shit outta me so early in the goddamn morning I fucking told that megane jackass I wasn’t going through this trash _with him_ of all dipshit out ther-”

“Who’s pissing the shit out of who watch your unholy tongue”, Allen bit back, kicking his thigh with the sole of his exposed foot. Even though he feels anguished, confused and there is, still, this deep feeling of solitude anchored to his lungs, he breaths out a shaky laugh, _unholy_ just sounds _so pointless_ if it’s related to Kanda, or _himself,_ and they’re soldiers of God. They’re the _holy soldiers of God_ even though they are fucking cursed and broken and Allen now is laughing quietly, stomach burning of disgust and all, just the only way he knows how to laugh when he means it.

Unsurprisingly, Kanda is watching him like he’s out of his mind.

“If I knew you were going to lose your sanity I’d have done you a favor and sliced you into pieces back then”.

 _Sanity_ is another funny word. They both are insane. Being mad is, probably, the only way of battling a war. Though Allen would have put both of his hands on embers to swear Kanda’s the person with the strongest morals he’s known. Purity, of some shit, but it’s all a lie. To be able to stand for promises for so long you have to be out of your mind.

Yet, who’s he to question how others survive?

Lenalee copes with his shit crying her soul out, Lavi doesn’t cope with his shit at all, Crowley only got becoming a soldier to escape the only real monster: the one in _his head;_ Miranda feeds on others’ generosity to build herself, Allen just stubbornly _keeps walking forward_ no matter to what deep hole and Kanda only has his ideals. Rather, his promises. He doesn’t even care about his own life, the destiny of the world, anyone in headquarters.

“Probably you’re turning me crazy”, he comments, like it’s not a big deal.

“Did you just flirt with me”.

“I didn’t, are your standards so low as to consider that flirting?”

“I’m going to shove Mugen into your mouth, douchebag”.

So, whatever. They’re all broken.

Maybe that’s why Lenalee says they are both alike.

Allen inhales deeply, clean oxygen fills his chest. It smells earthy, wet, fresh, spring, tea, and also _Kanda._ He figures, to his own annoyance, every time it rains it will smell like _Kanda,_ and in England _it’s always raining._ He never thought a period of doing nothing would be so unnerving, it contradicts the very reason why Allen exists: he’s here, _stagnant_ , alone with himself, to question all of his decisions, all of his ideals. He doesn’t understand how Kanda can stand it, when neither of them know anything but to fight Akuma.

“Why am I home?”

His voice is barely a raspy, disgusted whisper between clenched teeth. His shoulders are even more stiff than usual, Allen figures he’s fearing the answer. He’s fearing _Allen’s reply_ and it kind of enlights him to understanding: they’re both lone wolves seizing the other. It doesn’t matter they’ve known each other for about three years now, letting their guard down is _something new._ And as everything that is new: unsettling.  

Allen is playing figures on the surface of his red forearm. The texture of his innocence used to be comforting in uncontrolled situations, as this one is.

(It doesn’t work anymore)

“You are something I’m used to. I might not understand all of you, understand where you’re from and what you left behind, but I understand how you work _now._ I guess that’s partially why we fit so well during battles. You usually don’t notice the things you grow used to until they disappear, so you never realize home means _safe_ because _you’re familiar with it”._

Kanda’s back stiffens further. Allen watches his body language with big, contemplative eyes of the color of time, and water, and everything that is everlasting in this existence. The exact same way he looks when he summons Crown Clown and brandishes the sword of his innocence.

There are plenty of things Kanda hates about Allen, but the one he hates the most is how he stands, promising _he can’t die_ when _he can._

There is something about hypocrisy Kanda’s never been able to tolerate. Blame it on his beginnings in the Black Order, the ones also involving Alma. Hypocrisy is just a socially accepted way _of lying._

“That’s bullshit. Home can be the sickness of this world because you’re used to it?”

Allen slides his eyes away to contemplate the open landscape in front of them.

“You’re not a sickness”, he points out, in that naïve way of his to state things out of Kanda’s understanding that infuriates him so much. “You are something I can come back to, you’re something _I know._ ”

His words are also implying a sort of intimacy Kanda doesn’t like. Allen’s mouth is better when it’s shut, and so he says.

The albino scoffs.

“You know what I’m talking about” and there it is, again, _that tone,_ and _those eyes_ and that sad thing his lips are doing pulling its corners down Kanda hates _even more_ than the way he talks like _fucking Moyashi_ figured out something about him he doesn’t want to give away. Above all he hates he’s right, so he shoves Allen’s face away. The boy falls like a dead weight onto the carpet and doesn’t move. He just sighs.

The first times he had to deal with Kanda he thought Kanda was ice, but that, as many other things, was a delusion. Kanda is not even a wall, Kanda is arid, dry ground. He’s nothing. He’s _empty_. His way of furrowing his brow, his angry, sharp, yet elegant strides, his rigid, solid body, those black, black eyes like deep pits, like the way Allen figures the infinite would look like; all of that is Kanda, and all of that is just emptiness. There is no much to figure out once you know where to look, his body is a language on its own.

Ironically, Kanda is just _so empty_ people don’t want to approach him. The same violent feeling as when you’re the quiet outsider of a scene you’re not supposed to be watching.

But the way his shoulders stiffened at Allen’s words talked of demons.

_Memori wa yuri desu_

_(memories are ghosts)_

is the second sentence of the book.

He does have a heart. It’s filled with ghosts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” the raven retorted, hands curling into clenched fists. Allen is absolutely taken aback when he adds: “but I did once”.

 

And that’s how their morning abruptly comes to an end. Kanda stands up and leaves a freezing room and a frozen Allen, wondering if Kanda just happened to talk about _himself._

Truly, this mission is taking the best of their remaining sanity.

The old man they are living with comes back home around 11 am, just when Kanda leaves for a walk in the forest. It was long ago since Allen dropped any facade around this man, he can’t be fooled. When they showed up at his door with nothing but the order of remaining undercover, Kanda _had bowed_ to him. He barely caught _Minamoto-sama_ in the whole rushed speech he gave in japanese, along with the sealed letter from the Black Order. Not even Komui bothered in explaining who this man was and why Kanda dispensed such deep respect to him, as deep as to bitterly objurgate Allen with a _don’t fuck this up Shortstack,_ before entering in the ancient, traditional house.

And, as it usually happens when Allen is unable to manipulate the world into his favor, he’s left feeling uncomfortable, exposed and alone. Just like he used to, before Mana found him.

“Allen-kun”, he hears from the kitchen, and he’s there within the next seconds, knowing better than to make the old man wait. He’s fierce, strict and raw, intolerant of anything that doesn’t follow his habits or understanding. It wouldn’t be the first time Allen was left without eating for his ignorance of the japanese culture. He can charm the world in the blink of an eye, or so was it, until he stumbled upon this town. He is a foreigner, therefore he wasn’t spoken to or looked at.

They, simply, don’t want them here.

He helps quietly in preparing the rice and fish, along with what looks like miso soup. The old man keeps giving instructions in japanese, and Allen tries his very best to understand. He’s improved through the weeks, fortunately, and now he can make out very simple sentences and orders. Reading and writing kanji is another matter, though.

When they sit to eat lunch around 12, the man asks about Kanda. Allen furrows his brow and goes for: _araku... mori_. He knows it’s horrible and only shows how ignorant he is, which makes his neck blush furiously. The man curtly nods.

Allen, ironically, has never been more grateful to Cross’ harsh ways of _raising him up_ . He’s a fast learner. To prove it he murmurs _itadakimasu_ and gulps down his ration within minutes, polishing off Kanda’s too. If he’s outside sulking it’s his doing. Allen is not going to admit he’s looking forward to when he comes back, so he settles for trying:

 _Ore… suru…_ shakes his head, he doesn’t know how to phrase it. Tries again: _Or  hatarakimasu… ... Ore tameni tabemono hatarakimasu._ _Tasukete? Tsuneni kukufuna… Gomen… Otsukaresama desu,_ he finalizes quickly, fearing he’s offending his host.

To his disbelief, the man smiles. His face wrinkles like an accordion.

“Otsukaresama desu, Allen-kun”, he agrees. He replies with a fast speech, Allen only manages to catch a few words and prays his imagination is not failing him supplying the empty spaces. He can go with him tomorrow. He’s not sure the hour, though, and he’s afraid questioning aloud would be offensive so he lowers his gaze to the empty bowls in front of him.

The worst part about this involuntary retirement is how true he proves to be sometimes, _irritating himself. You’re so used to it you don’t acknowledge it until it’s missing,_ missing , he misses Lenalee and her cups of coffee, misses Link’s cold stare, Lavi’s bad jokes, Bookman’s storytelling, Marie and his comprehensive, yet quiet demeanor, misses teaming up with Lavi to mess up with Crowley. Lenalee always scolds them, like she doesn’t really believe how mischievous the two guys can be but ends up joining them every so often. Miranda and Crowley are two peas in a pod, fooling them became part of their routine at some point, when they all had the chance to be at the same time in headquarters. He doesn’t miss headquarters, per se, but he does. The solace is so overwhelming it crushes him, _weighs_ on him. This religious silence is something Allen doesn’t dare to break, and can’t bear with either. Yet, he does. He wonders when his life became so loud with noise he forgot how it was before Mana found him. Contrarily to what it may seem about him, people aren’t his thing.

He understands sorrow, agony, sadness, emptiness; he doesn’t understand _friendship._

Yet, _he does._

In the same way he assumes Kanda does, too, and that only concludes with Lenalee murmuring in his mind, again, _you two are so alike._

When Kanda finally comes back, Allen doesn’t acknowledge him even though his whole body is taking in everything: Kanda’s presence, temperature, closeness, mood, height, clothes; scrunches his face when he smells sweat, and Kanda growls under breath _I fucking know,_ like he just read the albino’s mind.

“Have you been sparring with trees?”

“I was tearing them off imagining it was you”.

“You could have done it with the real me instead” Allen snarled, although they both knew they _couldn’t._ The first week locked in this place had been hell. Allen thought they could be mature for once, but maturity was out of the equation if it involved Kanda. They had quarrels every three minutes, one of them so harsh they ended up fighting in the forest with their innocences, to the point they blew up a whole yard of trees.

After that, they carefully avoided training with the other and resumed their routines separately. That was, of course, until one day Kanda found himself meditating with the other exorcist by his side. Allen could keep it silent, contrarily to the stupid rabbit single-eyed at the headquarters, so Kanda was only moderately irritated that he had company. Gradually he just grew used to him.

As it had been happening over the past three years.

_Kanda grew used to him._

“For fuck’s sake I hate your fucking grill”.

“Good evening to you too!” Allen roars back only catching a glimpse of the cascade of black hair swaying behind the exorcist’s back.

There is mutual peace between them one second, and the next one is gone. Allen _is grateful._ His mind is clouded with anxiety in this existential crisis, clinging onto the only thing that could ground him: Kanda.

He wouldn’t voice it, but the house crumbles above his head when it’s just him. And it was just him _now._ The old man walked to the town in the afternoons to spend them drinking sake, some nights didn’t come back. They didn’t have a proper room because upstairs only was the host’s bedroom. Kanda took the studio and Allen was left with the living room.

He had a room back at the Order by himself, he just couldn’t comprehend what was so wrong with being alone lately. Maybe it was the absence of Timcampy, of people around him, of life, of _a purpose_ . What can he do if he’s not fighting? What did he used to do? _Ah._

Right.

_He doesn’t remember._

Allen pads to the engawa quietly, leaning in the doorframe, observing.

Kanda is now sitting on the wooden floor with his legs crossed, after the bath, pretty much in the same posture he’s every morning during meditation. The black pants hang loose and low on his hips, tightening near his ankles. He’s wearing a very thin turtleneck that shapes perfectly his torso with a single sleeve covering his tattooed arm.

Then he bends down to stretch his muscles, up, down, up, twists 90º his upper part, and gets up to start with the poses of Tai Chi. Allen knows this too, it’s not the first time he’s watched him. _How could he not._ Kanda flows. His whole body flows, elegant, flexible, _lethal._ It looks like a single man is moving the strings of the universe by his own will, in the way his hands flutter in the air rhythmically with his steps and the balance of his body.

Kanda’s never talked about it, but Allen knows by Lenalee when he joined in the headquarters she and Komui forced him into this routine to ease his mind. _There is nothing you can’t control,_ was their motto. He knows better than to be fooled by such naïve statement, but the way Kanda arches his back just now wills Allen to believe it.

The air moves with him, the water moves with him, the world moves with him. Allen can almost feel the rotation of the Earth in the way Kanda holds his hands to his chest as if keeping a secret and letting it free the following second.

“Your staring creeps me the fuck out, join already” Allen startles, and gapes. Does he? He just likes to watch Kanda, as he likes to watch him practicing with his katana or meditating.

He doesn’t. He’s fairly sure he can do it tomorrow, though. This is not Kanda urging him only for today because he’s uncomfortable. Or maybe because Allen’s face must have given away how the acid of his stomach, or butterflies, is paining him enough to pull a whatever smitten expression he was bearing.

“I will make fun of you”, Kanda promises to rub salt on the wound and Allen rolls his eyes.

“I might be better at this than you”, but Kanda opens his legs wide lowering himself completely to the ground _and no he can’t._ He isn’t flexible at all. Rather the opposite.

Kanda pays no mind to his weak payback.

After thirty minutes, Allen pads quietly to the studio and gets the book he’s working on along with the dictionary provided by Komui, and tries to decipher the next kanji while the sunlight lasts. The temperature is decreasing gradually, he has to drag the comforter outside to wrap himself with it, still in Kanda’s company. The exorcist keeps repeating the same movements again and again, his long loose black hair dancing with him. Allen can’t prevent himself from getting distracted every so often, wondering how it would look like braided and how it’d be to card his fingers through it.

He scratches the pentacle in his forehead, absently, eyes coming back to the kanji. The next sentence might be something akin to _we live,_ but he’s not entirely sure of how the verb is working. He asks the young man two minutes later, holding up the book for him to see.

“It’s not we live, it’s we exist”.

“Is that all?”

At the lack of response, he assumes it is.

“When we are back in the Order I hope you talk to me in japanese. I wouldn’t like to forget all this effort”.

“Hai”, Kanda replies dryly, and there is something tugging Allen’s mouth upwards. Kanda hates wasted or pointless work. Also… Allen has never really thought about it, but he might miss this? Not this, as _a place,_ maybe… talking with someone in his native language. He supposes if he was stuck here forever and suddenly someone spoke to him in English he would see the heavens open and God’s drawers. There is this shy feeling in his face when he thinks about the possibility of making Kanda slightly more comfortable back in the safe house. He treasures the times he’s spent with his friends, this is no different. He knows what kind of tea Lenalee likes to drink depending on the mood she’s in, knows the right amount of sweets and the brand she likes them from when she actually indulges and allows Allen to buy two boxes, pear drops for Timothy and jelly babies for her. Thanks to this incident with Lenalee, Allen also knows what type of chocolate Lavi loves the most and how he’s never able to get it, Cotten D’or Belgian chocolate. Allen went as far as to cross the frontier between Germany and Belgium during one mission to make sure he came back with a box filled with chocolate pastries just for him. Allen remembers every long conversation he’s had with Lavi at nights in the library of the Black Order, how much the redhaired knew about the world and just how deep the connections of his mind were. The carefree and cheery Lavi they knew was only the crest of the iceberg. Allen has spent the major part of his time with Lavi and Lenalee, so he knows them better, but also knows just how hot Kanda likes to eat his soba, and remembers that time his obsidian eyes widened when Jerry made _sushi._ But he also knows about Johnny, and Reever, and Chaoji, and Bak, and Timothy, and Bak, and Link, and Crowley, and Miranda, and fucking Cross, and Tiedoll, and Marie, and shit he’s so _homesick._ He misses them _so much._

He would be genuinely happy to talk with Kanda in Japanese if he allowed it. Not that his Japanese was anything but to make fun of, though contrarily to his earlier statement, Kanda wouldn’t downright make fun of his attempts unless he was being _an useless time-wracker annoying Moyashi._

Which happened to be the 99.99% period of the time they shared together, jokes on him.

If he manages to ignore the heavy void in his chest, he likes this. Likes waking up to meditation and tea, because more often than not they start talking about this and that; Kanda’s methodic and logical responses contradict his temper. Allen’s always thought he fought with his guts, but who would’ve said Kanda had brains to waste on thinking what he should do. _Not everything is about instinct, Moyashi_ , and Allen had scrunched up his nose and muttered _the name’s Allen_ and that’s how they greeted each other every morning. It was followed by their regular and separate training, even though Allen missed Marie or Link to sparre with. He blames his distraction on being by himself, but the way his eyes slide to watch Kanda kick the air and switch from one foot to another like his weight means nothing talks otherwise.

“I’m not buying it”, he informed him, a few hours later, about the time he was stretching (as much as his rigid body allowed, anyway). Kanda didn’t even show he was paying attention, which, as always, didn’t fail in irritating Allen. “You fight with your balls first, you don’t even think of a strategy. Such blunt overconfidence in your skills is going to bring you down for being an arrogant asshole”. And also because Kanda didn’t give a fuck about his life. If he got killed, easy; he would get peace at last. That didn’t mean he didn’t compromise every minute of his cursed existence to prepare his body to resist against any situation. After all, he had a promise he had to fulfill, even if he’s rather dead.

“Sure, because your judgement is the best one out there”. Allen wrinkled his face.

“I’m not saying I’m the b

“Which you, obviously, _aren't_ ”

 _but_ I have been by your side long enough as to know you don’t even think when you brandish Mugen”.

“I don’t need to”.

Allen bit his lower lip and glared at the back of the exorcist’s head. He doesn’t even know why he’s so outraged with this now, but he is, and he wants Kanda to admit he doesn’t put a single thought in what he’s doing no matter the situation they are in.

“I don’t use myself as a weapon”, snarled Kanda, after a minute, throwing a punch in the air. Allen wanted to laugh at how weak his stance was.

“Like I do”, he retorted, childishly, just because it was true but didn’t want to admit it. “If you want to go for a blow with your left you have to open your arm more”.

“What do you know”, hissed Kanda between clenched teeth, although he allowed the albino to approach him and perform the right pose of the punch.

“I had to escape from a few ugly situations the jackass of Cross put me through. Street fights can provide a lot of cash if you’re under the alarming pressure of increasing debts”.

“ _Allen Walker,_ the nice, kind, loved by everyone Allen Walker into street fighting”. It wasn’t even a question, it was a mock embittered with sharp sarcasm. Allen scowled deeply, mouth pulled down into a tight frown and body tense. There were two things he couldn’t stand: 1. Kanda throwing away everything he’s been building since Mana’s death, 2. Kanda _bragging about it._

“Shut your shitty mouth”, Allen barked, holding up his red, left palm. Kanda blew a punch to it without a second of hesitation, all of his torso constricting with the strength condensed in the blow. “Again”, he rebuked, taking a step back. Kanda barely missed a breath, taking a swing longer with both his arm and his step until it crashed loudly on Allen’s palm. The pain crawled along his arm to his very spine, but he didn’t grimace.

Allen was born with a parasyte innocence, so he doesn’t really know what it would feel for your innocence _to find you._ He supposes, though, it would be like this. Like this: Kanda moving and directing his hits towards Allen, switching exercises accordingly even though none of them speak up, their bodies in synchronization without a thought. Allen’s been Kanda’s weapon during battles, his decoy, his comrade, his shield. Kanda’s been Allen’s weapon, decoy, comrade, shield. They’re two of a kind; they’re the wall between the world and the war, the dangerous shine of their blades screeching

_I’m immortal_

and this is probably why they’ve been hurt more times than not,

(they aren’t)

But he understands now, as Kanda dodges his knee, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if they die, if their bodies rot, if they take the bullets because _this_ is what they know to do, but also the only thing they are: a barricade.

They can’t win this war,

but they aren’t going to lose it either.

This is why Kanda’s _home_. They die together or they don’t at all.

 

He’s not fast enough to block the high kick Kanda just aimed to his head and his body collides with the ground, rolling a few times before slowing down, face buried on the mud.

“God I hate you”.

“Not like he cares”.

Allen wipes his face and glowers at him, standing again. So like him, too: he stands up again even if he’s got his legs chopped.

Kanda respects his stupid courage even if it comes from a very annoying martyr complex.

“You’re the worst sickening asshole a whore could have given birth”

“Don’t project yourself on me”

There’s hair pulling, blood and a strain this time. Allen’s panting heavily on the ground after letting all of his frustration, confusion and self-doubt out in every blow. They call it tables and remain heaving laboriously, feeling the burn of their muscles after wearing down their bodies.  

He’s about to pass out when the tip of Kanda’s foot digs onto his side rather harshly and Allen swears, breathless.

“I’m taking a bath first, Shortstack”.

“Like it matters, we’re both drenched in crap”, but Kanda’s not listening, or rather, ignoring him, as he’s making his way to the bathroom. The albino rolls his eyes and manages to stand up. He’s received incredibly painful wounds along his life, but he only remembers to curse God’s grandmother’s skull when his sore body aches in every movement after sparring.

Allen barges in the bathroom despite Kanda’s earlier warning and starts stripping off his clothes in time to listen to him hiss.

“If you get in here i’m slicing open your throat”.

“First you have to get off and grab Mugen”.

“I always have Mugen with me”.

“Liar”, Allen splashes water and Kanda ends pulling his knees to his chest and glaring at him with such intensity Allen finds... he’s absolutely unfazed. Three weeks with each other just lead to bad luck, and _sorry, bad luck_ is behind the blinding smile he gives in return.

“Maybe you’re even more stupid than what I thought, but in this bathtub there isn’t space for both”.

“Talkative today, aren’t you”.

Kanda clenches his jaw shut and settles for boring holes on the door. Even though they’re confined in this claustrophobic space and Kanda is swearing he’s going to undig the bones of Allen’s family even if they’re in the butthole of the fucking world just to burn them, he lets him. _Lets him._ As he allows Allen’s company during meditation, Allen’s eyes perched on his figure when he’s training, his presence, conversation, _interaction._ He hates the intimacy built between their bodies in this stupid bathtub, though, and tells Allen with a kick to his knee. He groans.

“Do you find it pleasing fucking yourself on the stick you have up your ass even when you’re _bathing”_

“ _Maybe if you weren’t here_

_“I also live in this house_

_“I wish it just crashed on your fucking head_

_“I hope you asphyxiate with your tongue_

There is a contest of glares that lasts one minute before Allen gives up and pulls his legs out, so his body can slide further into the warm water. It takes Kanda longer to relax, but he eventually does. Allen’s pupils are shaping the outline of his now slumped shoulders, trailing the strands of hair, taking in the color of his skin, but also in the line of his jaw and the cut of his nose. He has ridiculous bangs. Not like Allen’s are better, anyway, he can’t see with his right eye for most of the time.

“How long do you think we’ll stay here?”

Kanda’s attention is back to him for the brief span of a second.

“I don’t know. Megane dipshit didn’t say crap about what this mission is about”.

“A forced exile”, Allen supplies, with a smile Kanda doesn’t need to see to know it’s coaxed. He himself hates how weak his determination is behind his facade, hates how his facade _is no longer one_. He’s never been so long without trying to be polite to someone, not watching his tongue, not being careful, not trying to please.

Being with Kanda is this easy, that’s the thing he should despise the most.

(But also because it’s easy, it confuses him).

“And leave the order without the protection of two of its best exorcists? Brilliant”.

Allen rests the back of his head on the edge of the bathtub and drifts his eyes to the small window. He can see the top of a few trees of orange leaves. He can’t help but think about how much this feels like they got kicked out because they are no longer useful. They are, though, they still are fighting this war. Right? The Earl’s out there with the Noah, there are innocences to find, exorcists to train. He has to find Cross and smash his face on a table, because, absolutely, _he’s not dead_. He wants to have a ride with Lenalee and Crowley in the Ferris wheel that comes with the circus in spring. There’s also this sugar cotton candy he’s never tried but always wanted. He’s fairly sure Timmy’s never had one either. Allen doesn’t like to share his food, but he can make sacrifices. Sometimes.

“Have you ever thought what you’d do once the war’s over?”

He realizes his mistake too late, he already knows the answer: _die_. Once the war is over the chances to find what Kanda needs to are even more improbable. Allen vaguely thinks if he’s going to end up rotten in some room at the headquarters with nothing to do he can go with Kanda in that utopy that’s kept him alive most of his existence. Even though there will always be sorrow and pain in human hearts, if there aren’t akumas to bring destruction among the hopeless, they, exorcists, will be the next bullseye of people’s fear. After all, what’s innocence? What’s their role in this world but bring disgrace to those who already are miserable? If there are exorcists in the proximity, akumas appear. People die. They never had the sympathy of anyone, but even less in the last years. Humanity has a massive, lethargic, historic conscience: they don’t forget fear. Fear to the unknown.

“Live”.

 

 _Live,_ and it sounds like _a_ _promise._

  


The job the old man entrusted him with turned out to be harder than anything Allen remembers doing without relying on his innocence in the past years. He’s helping out the sick people of the village. It’s not the first time he’s seen illness, _deaths,_ but there is a very important difference in coming back to a coffin and watch someone die hour by hour. There is little he can do for this child whose belly has disproportionate dimensions, but the hard eyes of the old man are fixated on him, accusatory. When Allen struggles to say _I can’t help_ he only points at his black jacket from the order and says: _Kami._

If God had a saying in this war they lost their privilege of talking long ago.

Needless to say when he comes back at night his gaze is on the floor, his shoulders are dropped and his face is saying _I’m useless._ I’m useless.

I’m useless helping people.

(I can only destroy)

_Destroyer of time._

Innocences aren’t lifesavers, but weapons.

His coat is not the one of a hero, but of a soldier.

He sets the futon on the living room, finishes his bowl of rice within minutes, and shields himself under the covers, left hand feeling heavier than ever. Kanda shows up later, with a book in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even spare a glance in Allen’s direction, just sits at the table cross-legged and starts reading, under the light of an oil lamp.

Allen retrieves from his hidden position to peek over the blankets and stare at Kanda’s back. He’s absolutely sure there’s better light in the studio, and there is no reason for the other exorcist to be here. His shoulders are stiffer than ever, a sight he’s grown used to by the time being, his hair is freely hanging loose from the low ponytail. Without realizing, Allen’s reached out to curl the tip of one of the strands around red fingers. He’s contemplating it, absently.

“What did you mean by _live_ the other day?” His voice is barely above a whisper. Kanda doesn’t show he’s heard, but after a while he parts his lips and murmurs:

“Exactly what I said”.

“But what did you _mean_. When I met you your death wish was ranking top on the list. In the ark you were fucking suicidal”.

“So were you”.

“That’s not true? My goal’s been always moving forward. That contradicts _wanting to die”_.

“Being a kamikaze is also being suicidal”, he can hear the roll of his eyes. Allen can’t argue further, _because he’s right._ Not that he’s about to admit it, though.

“In war sacrifices are needed”.

“Sane people would try to preserve their lives instead of jumping in the fire and watch themselves burn. Someday your innocence won’t heal you and then _what,_ Walker”.

Suddenly Allen knows. _Living_ , because of what’s been keeping him alive for so long. He feels guilty for asking in the first place. This is Kanda’s privacy, after all (Allen has no right to know). The exorcist is still turned to him, but he definitely _knows_ the expression the albino is making because he sighs, irritated.

“There are plenty of things to do once war’s over. This place, for example. It’s nice. We could come back”.

 _We could come back,_ and it also sounds like _a promise._

The tension in Allen’s body eases off, the soothing feeling of carding his fingers through Kanda’s hair enough to untangle the knot in his stomach.

“Okay”, he replies, because there isn’t much left to say. This house really is nice. Now, it is because Kanda is with him. The calm they managed to build among bickerings might be just _the right thing_ to patch the cracks in his heart he’s always known where there but always expertized in ignoring.

Inwardly, he wonders how it is that Kanda managed to change so much in so little time. He took the resolve of enjoy living even though he’s still chained to his past; it sounds foreign to Allen. He doesn’t pry further, however. If Kanda wants to tell him he will eventually. He’s got this habit of letting things slip involuntarily, blame it on Allen accidentally pressing the right buttons.

“Will you stay?”

“No, I plan on coming back to the fucking Order what the shit you think, Moyashi?”

Allen rolls his eyes and blows air out of his lungs exasperated, but is content with the answer. He scoots closer to the edge of the futon so he can feel Kanda’s warmth inches apart and allows sleep to get to him, silently asking for a night without nightmares.

 

It’s like this that they settle into a quiet routine. Allen joined Kanda in his Tai Chi when the tensions within himself threatened with snapping, after days keeping vigil on the sick. It’s almost second nature to him by now, moving his body in tandem with Kanda’s, mind completely shut unlike any other moment along the day. They meditate together, and sparre afterwards. Last time their skills were so even they tussled for five hours, until both their organisms gave up.

Then, unspokenly, agreed to switch to the swords. Allen is in full disadvantage every time, but that just fuels up his determination further. Trying to beat the crap out of Kanda almost makes him reach some sort of inner peace he’s not about to thank on the other exorcist, but he can’t keep his face from giving it away when they take a break afterwards. Kanda’s disgruntled mouth, if anything, is enough response for Allen to come back to his right mind, thinking maybe he should slice open a smile with Mugen in those tight lips. He has no problem in informing him. So: they start a new warrant.

Allen doesn’t fully realize _how much_ they’ve become part of the other until one afternoon Kanda quietly hisses _stop_ when Allen was starting to fall too deep in his own mind.

“I can’t just _stop”,_ he’s saying, avoiding looking at him. He can admit to himself that he’s no longer in control of his own mind, but he’s not about to let Kanda know. Futile attempt only for the sake of his pride, because the raven is narrowing his eyes, just in the way he always does when he’s _truly_ sick of something Allen did. Like shielding his face from him. Communication with Kanda is this straightforward, but also _this honest,_ solid; Allen hates noticing every time he’s never been closer to a person than what he is, now.

Neither of them asked for the _blind trust_ they built: talking with Kanda always tears him apart between the rawness of the violent unwilled exposition, and the welcoming relief of this weight in his chest loosening up because someone’s looking right through it.

“Does someone have to babysit you 24/7, Walker?”

 _That’s not how it works_ , he wants to protest, _I don’t need someone watching out for me_ . But he can’t retort because he’s more grateful and ashamed than outraged, and the way his eyes drift to the floor behind his bangs is enough proof. There’s a thick silence between them until eventually, Kanda gives up on being aggressive and decides to contemplate the landscape through the open doors. The autumn chill is enough to ice the whole room, but he doesn’t seem to notice, cross-legged, expression calm and, _for once,_ body relaxed.

“You have always been saying that stupid thing of always walking forward, what’s changed so much that you no longer stand by it?”

Allen scrunches his face, defensive at how his heart has just been peeled open, but is honest in his reply:

“Being here doing nothing threatens the sole purpose of my whole existence. I pulled myself together after Mana’s death following those words. Now look at where we are. Living _in_ the war was easy, it doesn’t require much thinking on my part, just something _I’m used to_ . Dealing with the akuma, dealing with the Noah, suffering the loss of people I barely had the time to know, some I will never meet. Waking up to morning stretches, to a dining hall once furiously crowded with noise, looking at your stupid angry face first thing just as you’re leaving to avoid getting trapped in the fussle of the late early hours, Lenalee’s morning coffee, Lavi’s bouncy persona the first five minutes before Bookman elbows him in the guts for being too cheery so soon. But, _this?_ What the fuck _is this,_ Kanda? I suppose it’s something I could grow used to because this is what the end of the war might be, _but I don’t like it._ ”

He massages the knuckles of his left arm apprehensively, almost regretting speaking up this much, even though he feels like he _has to._ He has to find a justification for the way his mind nestles among snakes like it’s always belonged there _._

“You and your goddamn martyr complex is so sickening I’ll be dry heaving for the next five hours”. He pauses there, pointedly, Allen really making the effort to restrain himself and not smudge his arrogant expression in the mud outside. “Not all about life is having a purpose”.

“Says who? You’ve been holding yourself up for as long everyone’s known for whatever happened in your past”.

“Well it’s precisely about _that”,_ Kanda hisses, intense, feral gaze unsettling Allen’s stomach. “Was it the right way of living? Who the hell knows, not even goddamn God has a saying on how you’re supposed to survive. You got there that’s what fucking matters. This is not some sort of breakdown because you don’t have anything to stand for now, this is only a different stage in the long way. You decided to become suicidal to protect what matters to you, has that changed? There are plenty of ways to protect people, not all of them related to not make them worry, to carry this gormless weight alone, or to throw yourself first thing into the deepest hole.” Allen accused the blows with all the dignity he could keep, even though his face was growing empty of any expression by seconds as his whole self was being exposed layer by layer. Then: “I don’t want to keep living like this. I don’t want to live for anyone but myself and that should be reason enough to keep moving forward. It sounds freaking disgusting to say this mushy crap aloud but I’m worthy of being in this world regardless of my mistakes or the crap the Order put me through. There are so many things I have no fucking idea of because I had my nose so up my own ass I couldn’t see anything else. Not like I want to, anyway. Just saying for the fucking sake of the metaphor”.

This is, also, the most he’s heard Kanda say on his own will, the albino realizes absently, fingers still rummaging through the grooves of his innocence.

“What about dying after you fulfill your promise?” The question is out of his mouth before he can stop it, painfully flinching at his own slip, briefly looking back at Kanda. He is not supposed to know about the promise, he just happened to overhear Kanda talking in his sleep more than once. Not like he’s watched him sleep.

“I realized there are things I can do for this world that would make up for what I didn’t in the past. This, after all, was the world Alma and I lived in, and not all it showed us was death and horror, though yes, mostly it was”.

There is a new pause. _Alma._ Allen’s never heard of that name before. His voice is barely a quiet murmur, eyes still trailed on the floor when he asks _what made you change?_ and that’s the reason why he misses the uncharastically meaningful look Kanda throws in his direction.

“Being a fucking normal person is not so bad, pillock. You don’t have to stubbornly crash your head through all the walls in front of you to get somewhere. Nobody’s asked that shit of you, so quit being the goddamn hero.”

“So we just stay here, is that it?”

“Yes?”

“But _why._ ”

“The hell I know? What does it matter? We are constantly re-defining ourselves; facing something different, assuming something new doesn’t mean you stop being your goddamn self”.

“I still don’t understand”, Allen’s quiet now, staring up at Kanda, big empty eyes, like sorting all that out just left him without anything else. He’s not all this anxiety, and fear, and self-doubt, Kanda wants to say, but only tightens his mouth further. “I don’t understand what I am supposed to do if everything I am was freeing akuma. I don’t know how you could just _accept_ this war after everything it did to you and decide to live _over it._ _You_ , of all people”.

Kanda’s stare is hard, now, washing over Allen and triggering a shiver that drifts along his spine. It looks almost as if he’s taking a decision he’s going to regret deeply but is determined to go to hell with it. The atmosphere switches into a thick tension, the way Kanda’s bending towards him making his breath catch in his throat.

They are now inches apart, those raw black eyes the only focus of his attention.

“War is not the only thing we have, even if it’s the only one we know.”

Allen’s fairly sure his heartbeat can be heard in the oppressive silence of the room. An iced breeze ruffles Kanda’s hair subtly, framing his sharp-edged face, everything feels _surreal._ The albino doesn’t know what he’s doing, but his body definitely has some kind of idea when it lurches forward, slowly, to fit his mouth against Kanda’s. It lasts a single second before he regains control of his actions and jerks backwards, withdrawing almost immediately in the space he’s occupying, _I’m sorry I didn’t mean to,_ but he did mean to although he _is_ sorry.

Kanda’s face is blank. He’s just there, immobile, breathing in that heavy way that is _so Kanda_ and Allen grew _so used to_ at some point it’s comforting. Sharp edged eyes focused intensely on him, a gaze so heavy it thickens further the atmosphere. But just because Kanda is right there and _he’s not moving,_ Allen slightly bends forward and shapes his lips again, once, twice, inhales sharply against his mouth almost accidentally, _breathing him,_ and it’s true, that they both are alive.

They are alive, and they are here, now. And maybe _it’s okay._ It can’t be so bad, Allen considers,

he’s not alone.

It’s okay to allow himself to _not be alone._

He wants to say _thank you, you’ve been here the whole time,_ but his mouth is busy wrapping around Kanda’s upper lip, outlining it with the tip of his tongue, and suddenly Kanda’s mouth is open and Allen’s exhaling in it, nervous fingers forgiving his skin in favor of scratching the raven’s scalp, pulling him in, _in, in,_ until Kanda’s sitting on the albino’s lap, legs stubbornly crossed over Allen’s ones, _just so like him_ : not giving in even when he’s supposed to.

It’s not the first time Allen’s kissed, but it definitely is the first time it feels as raw, and as vulnerable, he’s saying in the way his lips shape his more than what he can actually _say with words._ It feels, also, somewhat uncomfortable, _is this okay, what am I doing,_ but it apparently is okay and he might just know what he’s doing when Kanda finally moves to grip Allen’s left wrist and force his hand under his own black sweater.

His breath catches in his throat for the brief second he needs to assume he’s given permission to take it further, although he doesn’t know _how further._ It feels nice. But also it doesn’t. Is this something he wants? Is this something he needs?

Kanda sighs against his mouth, irritated.

“ _Allen_ ”.

And it _grounds_ him.

He touches the skin under his left palm, up to his very nape and then down, along the groove of his spine. Kanda follows the touch with a wave of his torso, throwing his head back to drag the feeling of Allen’s rough innocence bare on his skin. The way he exposes his throat is beautiful, but also absolute and _trusting._ He closes his teeth around it, not so careful, he wants to leave marks that talk of them alive, here, now.

The cold breeze ices his skin, plays with their hair; he presses Kanda tight, hard, closer. Wills those crossed legs to part so he can sneak in and fit their bodies together, free fingers tucking Kanda’s bangs away from his face. He doesn’t know how he earned the privilege to be doing this, to be exposing his face, to stare at those dark eyes and to have them staring back, but it twists his stomach, tight, and Allen doesn’t have enough oxygen in the room so he breathes from Kanda’s mouth, deeper, longer.

He understands now, war is not the only thing they have, when he notices Kanda’s fully relaxed on top of him, _melting_ against him and it strucks Allen with such viscerality he has to lower his face for a second and hide it in the crook of the raven’s neck. This is Kanda, making a concession _for him_ . Letting his guard down _for him._ Crumbling down his walls _for him._ Allen has the certainty that if he asks anything, Kanda would reply with honesty. The unspoken trust behind these realizations raises a goosebump along his skin.

The intensity of this sacrifice alone is harder to face than the whole war he’s carrying at his back.

He’s trembling when he lifts his face up and Kanda meets him halfway, willing to go at the pace Allen needs, willing to give anything he needs, to stop when he needs, to take it further, _if he needs,_ Allen’s struggling to breathe.

But he wants this. Wants to feel a body, raw against his, wants to feel _Kanda’s_ showing him that there is more to this world than what they have always seen, finding it in the taste of his neck when Allen sucks on it, on his already abused lower lip, on those long fingers when he takes one by one in his mouth, he’s always only used his hands to destroy,

_(you both are so alike)_

but they can do something else, new, today. Allen observes Kanda work himself up, engraving in his memory the way his hair slides past his shoulder, the color of the marks blooming on his skin, the fast tremor of his chest as he pants, the tension of his muscles when he contorts, Allen catches his tongue before it slips and admires aloud.

He’s impossibly hard as Kanda fucks himself on his own fingers, gaze low and tantalizing fixated on Allen.

Kanda’s the only focus of his attention, of his body, of his thoughts. Allen’s mind is anchored on the exorcist, nestling in the memories they are filling together, in the purpose Kanda _promises_ they have by slamming his hips up and down, a rhythm that soon sees its end as the albino _meets him halfway._ They’re quiet, only sharing the rough air leaving their lungs burning due to their closeness. He knows Kanda’s getting closer because he grips him tighter, clings onto him _closer,_ like Allen’s the only thing keeping him (ir)rational and Allen digs his fingers on his flesh, speeding up; there’s an end for him, too.

 

Later, as they’re sprawled on the floor, sated, too spent to set the futon and shield their bodies from the unmerciful autumn breeze, Allen stares at the part of Kanda’s body within his field of vision, following the drawings of bones under his skin, thinking _this_ is the place they built to come home to.    

**Author's Note:**

> // has to write self fics because they've gone through the whole tag already  
> (Also my apologies, I have no idea about japanese) Regarding Allen's babbling, he literally says the first time to walk (aruku) outside (mori). As for the second time, he tries to say he's going to work to earn for food.


End file.
